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A NOSARA COSTA RICA STORY

The open bed truck hauling a dozen tourists and half a dozen “Tico” guides lurched and bounced along the rocky mountain road. Dust from the road settled on the tropical vegetation on the driver’s side and hung in open space on the other side like a cartoon character waiting for the inevitable fall. The passenger side boasted the cliche drop off into a deep jungle ravine.

I was told that there are only two tropical dry forests in the world. I have not been able to verify that information; but I can say that this was certainly tropical and dry.

The truck rumbled under the shade of a tree occupied with howling monkeys.

Grinding to a stop at the top of a mountain overlooking the Pacific Ocean, the lean Tico guides leapt to the ground offering their assistance to the anxious tourists. Cameras snapped pictures. My wife asked about the holes in the ground. Tarantula holes. She backed away.

We hiked several hundred yards to a higher point. Rocks slipped under our feet and the sun reminded us to be thankful that we were not shoveling snow in Minnesota. VERY thankful.

At the top an 800 foot cable stretched across a deep ravine swallowed up by trees in the distance. One of the tourists said, “I’m not going. No way.” Another said, “So cool.” Another was just silent. Cameras snapped, monkeys howled, spiders hid, tourists pondered falling and the guides strapped harnesses onto our dust covered bodies.

Brief instructions were given with enough hints of danger to make the adrenalin do warm up exercises. A guide hooked himself onto the cable and pushed off into the vast expanse calling out to the vultures flying BELOW him.

One by one we were launched. The show-offs, the nervous Nellies, the screamer, the coolies, the President of the Argentinian Safe Company, . . . until it was my turn.

Strapped in and hooked up I looked at a makeshift sign nailed to a tree: “No turning back now.” Guess not. A strong Tico hand gave me a push and the next thing I knew I was airborne soaring hundreds of feet over forest tree tops.

Nice.

We zipped sixteen sections of cable for a total of over 5 miles. By the time we were attached to the fifth cable the Screamer was no longer screaming; instead she was bragging about keeping her eyes open and flapping her arms like a bird. A new found level of comfort.

The Argentinian Safe Company president was “double zipping” with his wife.

Boy, it feels good to laugh. All the stress and concerns and to-dos had fallen off into the jungle somewhere below us. We made new friends. The wind blew off the dust. We shed our clothes to jump into a jungle river. We swapped zip line stories like we had all gone on separate trips. A guide jumped out from a hiding place wearing a gorilla mask. We screamed and laughed and punched each other.

That evening sitting on the balcony listening to the sounds of creatures without faces I sipped a Costa Rican iced tea and thanked the Maker of Jungles that life is a whole lot more than making the next sale, organizing the next file, and answering the next call.

I mean, did you go into business to get trapped by it and ruin your fun? Probably not. So who’s in charge? You or your business?

If it’s been awhile since you took a leap just for fun, what’s holding you back?